


If I Get By, It's Mine

by ninhursag



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Aphrodisiacs, Assassins & Hitmen, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Burglary, Caught, Dubcon due to drugs, Dubious Consent, F/M, Girl Saves Boy, Hurt/Comfort, Murder, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Rescue, Sex Pollen, Sexual Assault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-06-09 17:28:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19480642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninhursag/pseuds/ninhursag
Summary: Lenoard is drugged and caught in the act of stealing from a mob boss. Unfortunately, the drugs are an unbearable aphrodisiac.Fortunately, someone has taken out a hit on said mob boss and a certain badass assassin helps our thief out with his plight.A/U first meeting though they may end up their canon selves pretty easily.





	If I Get By, It's Mine

**Author's Note:**

> For h/c bingo square: caught in a robbery
> 
> For season of kink: aphrodisiacs/altered mental state
> 
> Contains: character is unable to meaningfully refuse sex due to a drug he is given. 
> 
> Bad guy takes some serious liberties and threatens more. He doesn't get away with it.

The first sense that Leonard had that something was wrong was the faint feeling of warmth in his belly. He was in the middle of a solo job so the timing was terrible and he decided to ignore it. 

He concentrated on climbing through a vent to bypass a retinal scanner and then dropping down into the safe room. This was the part where he usually felt nothing but adrenaline, his mental timer ticking down the seconds before a camera or a motion sensor could catch him. If he'd feel any sensation, it would be cold.

Not these tendrils of heat, like he'd taken a shot of something strong.

He pushed the concerns aside, because he was in. Just had to crack the vault code and get his hands on his prize. Forty-five seconds.

This was the best part, with his hands itching to touch something priceless. Gems under glass, ancient. They'd hung around the neck of French courtesan before she'd lost her head.

It was around then the sensation of warmth became more physical. It started in his toes and fingers, more a tingling than anything else. The tingling turned into an itch, low level, still ignorable. The sense of smell-- cleaning fluid, his own sweat, old dust. It was almost chokingly intense.

By the time he was fully back in the vent he recognized that something was actually wrong-- not just physically, but because he was losing seconds from his internal clock. He always knew when it was, how long he had and that was stuttering, shifting.

And the sensation was becoming overwhelming, heat and itch, maddening on skin. Like all he needed was to tear off the clothes he was wearing to stop it, cool off, relax, something. 

And that was definitely wrong.

He swore internally. A drug, he thought, had to have been, one nothing in the schematics or blueprints on the security system had told him about. He'd been drugged, must have happened in the vents, a gas? Odorless and silent? Nothing from skin contact, he was covered up completely, gloves and mask, hiding his DNA. 

And he was losing minutes now, entire blocks of sixty seconds in succession.

The itch and heat not something he could do anything but breathe through, gasp through. It rushed through him with force behind it. The smell. The sticky scent of his own body, pounding head and thrumming veins.

And then Len fell. Right through the ceiling. Barely processed it happening until he hit the ground and knocked the breath out of himself. 

It was a soft fall, maybe some bruising, but nothing cracked or twisted. His face was pressed to a pleasantly cool floor.

He shivered with the sensation of that coolness, the solidity of it. Almost moaned.

"What have we here?" A voice said, silky and vaguely familiar. Warm, caressing voice. Who? "I do believe I've caught a thief."

Len looked up, forcing his face from the ground. He did know the guy, Frank Santini, brother of the current family head. Owner of the necklace Leonard had tucked away in a pocket. Looking stupidly proud of himself, calm and collected in a silk robe and slippers.

He walked right up to Len, slippered feet close and vulnerable. This would be where he'd normally break the asshole's face or at least pull the gun he's packing. Get him away, rather than closer.

Right now he could barely do anything but smell him, expensive brandy and a cigar, so fucking typical for a mob boss. Chicken and garlic from dinner. Excitement.

Leonard shivered as Santini knelt down next to him. Sweaty excitement. Fuck. The guy's hands were hot when he put them on Len's face, tugging the thick, too itchy (it's never been itchy or distracting before) material of his mask off skin.

And Santini laughed when he saw Len's face, pure cackling joy. Heady bump of excitement. 

"Well, if it's ain't Leonard Snart. I haven't just caught a thief, I've got Central City's finest." Santini's palms were wrinkled, leathery from sun. They touched Len's face and the sensation was… it made him shake. Skin on skin. Santini's grin widened. "You like the drug? Chemists made it for me, not lethal but very, very incapacitating. And very stimulating."

Len swallowed. Sensation. Rough fingers on his cheek, over his lips. His throat was dry and he tried to part his lips to say something-- a quip, a what the fuck, a threat-- and then Santini's fingers slid over his mouth, slipped in and his back arched and he moaned…

Hard. He was hard and squirming.

Hot. Hot. He itched and he wanted to be touched. 

That laughter, painful in his ears. "It's got some wonderful properties. Makes you a whore in heat, frankly," Santini tells him, mouth to his ear, dripping with condescending ease. "And you're attractive enough I might take advantage. Maybe call in some of my boys when I'm done." A breath. A casual knee pushing his legs apart.

No. But he couldn't manage to say it.

"I heard you don't even get naked out of prison, just like to taunt the thugs with your pretty face. Well you're flying on something that's going to mean you can't help deliver on that tease. What do you say, Snart?" He asked like he didn't have his fingers in Len's mouth, like Len could even talk.

Len made a frantic noise anyway. Intended negation but then there was a hand on the zipper of his body suit, tugging and touching and the touch eased the bone deep itch. He moaned. Rough fingers on his skin.

'I'll kill you,' he thought, with the cold part of his brain, the part that was still aware under this. And a deeper part, the kid shit he shoved away screaming into the dark and never thought about, that was making him shake, the voice that sounded like own laughing at him and saying, 'looks like you want it, you wanted it all along'.

He can kill Santini later, but he can't stop him now, can't even make his body fight, barely can move any way but deeper into the touch. Hot, itchy, sickeningly erect. 

This was going to happen. And he was going to want it. And there was nothing he could do.

And then it didn't. Something else did.

Something else that never happened, not in decades of work, not unless he brought along his own trusted back up. 

Rescue showed up anyway, in the form of a slim, wiry figure all in black, face half covered by a mask. Assassin, his brain said.

There was a knife in her hand, held for an easy throw.

Her voice, when she spoke, was husky and low, mild disgust tinging it. "Well, here's a job that won't keep me up at night," she said and shook her head. "Good riddance to rapist assholes."

Santini didn't have time to ask who she was, who sent her. There was a knife in his throat, her knife, the woman's. It was a fast, brutal death.

There was the fucker's blood on Len's face and his hands and it was hot and slick and it made him gasp like every single sensation did and then the woman was kicking the body off of him. He made a low, helpless noise that would have made him ashamed if he could get more shamed than this.

On his back, legs apart and pants half unzipped. Barely able to string together anything but sounds.

She sighed, kneeling down next to him. The way she moved was all deadly grace and he itched. He wanted. Eyes wide and fixed on her.

Her hand was on his wrist, at the pulse point. Just taking his pulse. She sighed again. Lowered her mask and looked at him. He shuddered under her hand. 

She had a beautiful face, beautiful as the way she moved. Fair skin and clear blue eyes, perfectly arched brows. A dusting of freckles. A warmth to her skin. Youthful roundness, but not too young.

"Hey," he managed to mumble. "Thanks."

"Hey," she said. Frowning at whatever his pulse was telling her or the expression on his face. "Don't thank me yet. I have a pretty good idea what you're drugged with and if you just sit with it it'll take days to filter out of your system."

He shrugged like he knew what she was talking about. Like he could hear much but the soothing cadence of her words, like it made sense. The staccato beat of his own pulse in his ears. Sweat. Arousal. Fear. Blood. Drying already, on his skin.

She smelled like leather and gun oil. Better. Better. The sharpness of a whetstone. He reached out with jerky, twitchy fingers. Her hair was soft where she'd pulled it back. Skin was warm. 

"Up to you," she was saying. Serious eyed. "I'm going to suggest you let me, so you burn off some of the drug and I can get you out of here, but if you don't want--"

"I do want," he managed. His blood was on fire. He'd been about to go down for Frank fucking Santini and probably his fucking men too. This-- her-- whoever she was-- would have been a yes on a normal day. "I do."

"Ok." She leaned in, low and warm. He could smell her breath his breath, rush rush rush, squirming out of his skin and helpless.

When she touched him, low and warm hand down his pants, through his boxers and on skin, whatever was left of him dissolved.

Blood. Skin. Her hand, right hand, knife hand, deadly hand, curled around his cock. Hips jerking with the rhythm she was giving him.

She kissed him or maybe he just wanted her to. He could smell the warmth and slick heat of her, so close. The pink curl of her tongue, licking her own lips. She smiled at him.

He shook with the force of her hand, her mouth, eyes squeezing shut, body helpless against it.

After, his head wasn't his own, not completely, but clearer. He could half think if not quite track time, could speak, stand up on not quite shaking legs. Zip up his fucking pants.

He remembered Santini's body and frowned at it. The surprised look in the asshole's still open eyes. The woman let him do it, stare at the body, while she casually wiped his come off her hand and put the cloth back into a pocket. Right. DNA.

Then she was nice enough to give him one to clean his own face of dried blood.

"Should we do something about the body?" He asked.

She shrugged. "I'm supposed to leave it as a warning so no. Now come on, it's going to take a few more rounds to burn the crap he drugged you with off and I doubt you want it to happen here."

He snorted wearily. "Good guess."

His body responded well enough to his commands to follow her out, into the cool outside air. Down into an alley. She looked him over carefully. Hands on him, checking pupils. Checking him as if his condition mattered.

He shifted and tried not to look like his skin was starting to itch again.

"Hey. Do you have someone you can call? Girlfriend? Boyfriend? Sex worker on retainer?" she asked, gently. A lot more gentle than someone who'd just killed a Mafia Don and then brought Len off over his cooling corpse had any right to be.

He snorted a helpless laugh. "No thanks. If you could drop me on Main and Everton, there's a place I could sweat this one out."

Sweat literally. He was going to need to burn these clothes. There'd been someone who'd have helped him once- would have made the whole world burn for this-- would have pushed him down skin to skin until the fire that was in him now burned itself out.

Had been. Not now.

She probably saw it in his eyes, too drugged and sick to play it cool.

She shrugged. "I'd go again, if you wanted."

Now that was a surprise. But then so was pretty much everything that had happened since she showed up. He was probably still on the floor of the Santini vault hallucinating.

He made a face he hoped looked dashing instead of wiped out. Shrugged. "Sure, why not?"

Main and Everton was one of his most defensible safe houses. A swat team could probably break in, but they'd lose guys. It was a good place to go wounded-- not doctor wounded-- or when he needed desperately to hole up. 

He could see her noticing that as they walked in but it calmed her down instead of making her nervous. He didn't mention no one else had been here, not even his nearest and dearest. Just him and his paranoia and now her. After all, she'd already had him at one of his weakest moments in years.

She took off her black jacket and hung it on the hook next to his. He didn't offer her tea.

"I don't know your name," he said. "Not sure you got mine either."

Her eyebrows rose. "Call me Sara, Leonard," she said, easily enough.

"Why, is that your name?" he asked.

She snorted. "Yes."

"Hi Sara, it's very nice to meet you." Then he took a long step and kissed her. It was easier this time, he wasn't insane with need, but she still smelled incredible.

Her mouth curved into the kiss and she cupped her hands around the back of his neck, drawing him down.

His body burned. Every touch was fire.

They didn't make it to the bed the first time. Just pants around the ankles and thank fuck she had a condom on her because this wasn't some place he brought people or stocked that.

He ended up sprawled on the ground all over again, looking up at her unbearably beautiful face while she lowered herself on him, slow and easy. Dragging her body over the head of his cock, letting it circle before she sank down on him. Then up and down, the angle making her moan.

She rode him hard, while his hands slid over her hips, dug in, held on like she'd slip out and away if he let go.

He came gasping for air frantically, barely able to keep his grip. Grasping at her body like the weight of it, slim muscle and clean skin, blue eyes, could drive out the weight of the almost that had happened. 

The second time he had more wits back, enough to get her on the bed, get his face between her legs and tease her open. She was soaked, dripping, his tongue slick on her clit, down the line of her slit, pressed inside.

He thrust helplessly against the mattress while he ate her out, hips moving out of his control at the sounds she made, low and guttural. The way her nails dug into his neck, scratched against his hair but couldn't catch hold.

Third and last time he found the necklace, the one Santini never thought to take off him before he bit it. Found it and clasped it around her long, lovely neck.

That made her laugh. "Really?" she asked, fingering the gemstones. They were gaudy, glittering. Fabulously expensive.

"You literally saved my ass," he said. "Why not reward you?" After all it was the stealing that was the fun part. Having just meant having to defend it. And it did belong around the neck of a gorgeous woman.

She wore it and nothing else while he put this mouth on her breasts, tongued her nipples, and she moaned in response. While she put her mouth on his cock and it scratched against his thighs when she moved.

The drug felt burned out by then, veins empty of it, and his body mostly just running on adrenaline and her.

And then, after, when he had nothing left, wrung dry, she lay down next to him, one hand tucked possessively in the fabric of his shirt while the necklace sparkled against her skin. And he felt so much better than he could have guessed.

She had scars, battle marks. Skin stretched taut over muscle. Lovely face as she relaxed and looked him over and smiled like she liked what she saw. He didn't mind the appraisal. Wanted her eyes on him just like that.

"Stay," he offered impulsively. "I'll make you breakfast. Breakfast drinks? I make a mean Bloody Mary."

She grinned. Traced a finger over his lips which made him smile back. Press a kiss against her palm. "You're not going to be embarrassed about being saved by a girl?" she asked.

And that made him laugh. "Nope, ran out of shame when I had Santini's hands down my pants and couldn't help humping them. Being rescued by a badass blonde was the highlight."

She frowned. Her hand gentled on his skin in a way he couldn't quite understand but accepting the touch felt like the least he could offer. "I'm sorry," she said more seriously, which he didn't know what to do with.

He rolled his eyes. "Tell you what? I promise not to get weepy if you promise to still respect me in the morning."

She sighed. "I'll have to think about that, you do make a pretty ridiculous face when you come," she teased. 

Then she kissed him, harder. Mouth warm, hands on him. 

"I am sorry I didn't get there before he touched you, but the rest worked out nicely-- for me."

"Oh believe me, Sara, it's not just for you." He just smirked and let his head fall back onto the pillow.


End file.
